


And say you'll come

by kalligenos



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: F/F, fuck me i made another sad, let saber be gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalligenos/pseuds/kalligenos
Summary: Saber dreams.
Relationships: Irisviel von Einzbern/Arturia Pendragon | Saber
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	And say you'll come

**i.**

You think about Ector's house with its sturdy stone walls and the fragrant ivy that crawling up the windows, of the stables and the unruly chickens that neglected their nests to lay their eggs inside old boots and empty buckets instead; there must have been sounds as well, you're certain‒ many of the villagers would come to serve the old knight, you remember, old men with their wives and daughters who would call out to greet you after training was over.

You remember the house. You remember the shadows of its people, their movements if not their looks, the stables and the horses and the battered targets around the back of your home. You need only to close your eyes to deceive yourself into thinking the sound of Kay's voice is real, to put you through the disappointment of his absence.

And then you think how happy it would make her, the sight of it all.

How shameless your brother would be in his flirtatious, how vivacious she would be in declining him.

( She would love riding, you know, and she may love riding still if only you‒ )

Her fingers, cold between your own; a knight would kiss them before calling out for her to wake, but the king in you knows better than to walk down that road.

Still, the sight of her eyes warms you.

* * *

_You'll carry it with you, you know, a new pebble to edify the mountain of remembrance that takes you no closer to the sky, the treacherous hill that allows you no way back._

_You'll carry it, and you'll remember it, and you'll stay._

* * *

**ii.**

Sometimes she pretends to sleep to ease your worries, and it makes you feel like drowning.

 _I would take you back with me_ , you tell her with a voice that never quite makes it past the feverish panic clenching your jaw. _We would cross the sea together to land victorious, and then the sea would hold to threats for me; it would become a joyous thing to look at and remember, and I would smile._

_Would it please you, that?_

She sighs, a pained expression taking over her features, and you kneel closer to her, your nails digging into the leather of your gloves, the bile coating your throat, your tongue.

* * *

_The sight of it fills you with dread._

* * *

**iii.**

One day, she asks about your kingdom. _How was it like?_ , she wonders, and you think _a sea of spears, a mountain of swords_ , something like the roaring of the sea freezing your veins, halting your hands, your eyes, your heart. _The stench of rotting flesh and burning, a scorched ruin‒_

(Her hands hold your own and for a fleeting, dreadful moment your mind conjures other hands, and it feels like your heart should weep)

You speak of the king's road and the banners, flying so high and so bright, the horns blowing proudly upon arriving home. You describe Camelot for her, all its walls and towers and halls, and when her smile blooms you make your best to recall what flowers the ladies fair used to weave their crowns with, what instruments the bards held when composing their many splending merry songs.

All the rivers and valleys, all the endless fields and fearsome beasts to slay.

You tell her about the lake.

About the sky and the stars and how they were the only light a traveler could count upon.

* * *

_You hoard the memories for her._

* * *

**iv.**

Sometimes you dream.

You dream you're there, fifteen again, Caliburn in your hand.

You dream that Gawain's voice rings clear at your back, that Bedivere looks at you with serene eyes, that your brother's laughter is there to quiet down uncertainty.

You dream of Lancelot as he was on that first morning, tall and beautiful and proud, whole and happy and himself still.

You dream of Guinevere, free to give herself to love, safe from court and shame and duty.

Sometimes, you dream of home.

* * *

_And then you dream of the empty chair besides you being full for once, and you dream that the eyes facing you are new and colorful and bright, and you dream that she smiles at you, that she calls your name, and in the dream it feels like a song, like a promise, like a golden cup that is full and offered and taken, and then‒_

* * *

**v.**

She's laughing and walking on ahead, her joy child-like in its innocence.

“Saber, look! Look at that! Isn't it incredible!?”.

There's color on her cheeks, her breathing quick and shallow with excitement.

“It is a sight indeed”.

There must be many hours ahead of them still, you're certain.

* * *

_And then her smile is perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> YOU THOUGHT I WAS DEAD BUT NO! I'M JUST LAZY! 
> 
> I won't drop my first work, I promise. I just needed something to get the ball running again. 
> 
> And boom, here it is. More (bi)lesbians.


End file.
